For Charlotte Battle of Star 6276XM
by Alcaeus of Cronus
Summary: The life of a space marine requires the willingness to embrace death, and though you are insignificant compared to the whole, a reason to fight that is important to you, even if only you alone. In an age that knows only war, no man at arms is a hero.


For Charlotte: Battle of Star 6276-X-M  
  
We were sent there in the name of star storm squad "Red Skulls," for the glory of his majesty, The Emperor of Man. My name was Nicholas Lancer, foot soldier of the 12th infantry. Trained to fight, trained to kill, we were to capture Star 6276-X-M from the Eldar and claim it as man's newest space colony and heavy support vehicle production factory. Who knew that the glorious fight for mankind, that which was so gracefully glorified as noble in the recruiting process, could be so bland and mechanical? Well, I suppose not every grunt can be a hero. It must take a particular kind of man. I was hero to but one: my darling daughter, Charlotte.  
  
It had been three years since I left her to fend for herself in our not-so-humble colony back on Earth. I left her depressed and cold, pulled from her desperate grip at the call of the Emperor's mighty army. She was five years old then; barely old enough to comprehend what was happening, and her daddy's face was still fresh and new to her. Since then, my face had taken on scars of many kinds, physical or otherwise. I had literally been made into a killing machine, my body riddled with biomechanical upgrades. I had become a monster, a weapon wielded by the iron fist of the empire. Often I wondered, would she remember me? Would she accept me this way?  
  
Nobody could've known that. In any case, it didn't matter. The dawn would bring new blood and pain. Each of the hundreds of us had a reason to fight, and she was mine. If not to see her face again, if not to hold her in my arms, then to protect her from my inevitable fate: death by the hand of an oppressive enemy.  
  
The night passed swiftly, but dawn brought little more light than an hour before. The clouds remained low, thick, and chaotic above the barren red rock and soil, and thunder whispered our fates in the heavens. Many of us knew we would die that day, but it made no difference. From then on it was kill or be killed. Our time had come, and so had theirs.  
  
The operation was so far successful. Our platoon was separated into groups of twenty each the day before, each assigned a strike on the Eldar stations that had any form of direct contact with the main headquarters. Communication towers were always struck first, so no harbinger of battle was sent to our main target. Timing was not a major concern, considering that each of the aforementioned stations were within a four hour distance when traveling by attack bike. For the next six hours, until the next performance check, the element of surprise was ours. However, even such a well-calculated strike bore excessive casualties.  
  
We had the parameter surrounded on all sides, two soldiers for every one enemy. Their searchlights would spot us far too late before our strike was already well underway. Of course, they had to make ample time for the commander's charismatic signature speech. As every other soldier, I showed my respect and hailed the name of the Emperor and his cause, but only I could find my true motivation. As selfish as it may seem, no soldier fought simply for the glory of a single idol.  
  
Readied and anxious for the first bullets to fly, we held our waypoint positions in wait of the signal to charge, staring down the ominous horizon that carried the tower of our prey on its shoulders. Dust lifted from the terrain in clouds into a low altitude breeze that stretched to our target, a symbol of silent anxiety. Even though everything had gone according to plan, something didn't sit quite right inside me. Something felt wrong.  
  
Suddenly, yet calmly, the bulk of the Eldar army emerged from the hangars of the base in battle formation, staring right back at us over the dust, armed with weaponry heavy and light to match all that we had prepared. A cold sweat overcame me at that sight.  
  
It was a trap! They had expected us all along! They acquired territory close to one of our major port cities on a planet not too far off knowing that we would respond to the threat, knowing that our particular force would be sent to fight back. They wanted us because we used new biomechanical upgrades designed to turn the tides of war against the Eldar. They knew that if information on our new gear could be attained in such a contained environment and they could prepare for it without causing too much of a stir, the Empire would have little time to alter the upgrades for new surprises before a counter attack, and thus, be at a great disadvantage.  
  
Obviously this fact became clear to more than just me, because their appearance was the only signal we needed. The element of surprise was no longer an option. Both armies charged furiously at one another, and I could hear the rough scratching and crunching under the feat of my comrades as they took up their bolters and stormed the field. As I did the same, my own footsteps rattled my vision, and my quickened breath echoed back to my ears inside my helmet. It was only seconds before the first wave on both sides fell to the first shots fired. No matter how many battles I was in, the sound of war's screams and agony gave me chills.  
  
Somehow I was able to plow through the horror and work my way into the eye of the storm. The screams were louder now, echoing over the clanking of metal-to-metal, and gunfire was a constant. Past the crowd, I could see the enemy commander. He was heavily guarded, but not invulnerable. A new courage rose within me at the opportunity of securing my daughter's future for even one more year, and I became a new man.  
  
I thrusted the whole of my being over the fallen and through the living, my raging determination streaming from the barrel of my bolter onto those who opposed me. I pushed through the clutter of Eldar filth to the one that mattered most, and he saw me approaching. I ran out of ammo as I reached him, forced to challenge him with my bare hands. He fired at me, and the shurikens stung as they cut through my armor and skin, but I didn't care. I tackled him to the floor and wrestled the sword from his hand, pounding him with underhanded thrusts of the blade in the chest until finally breaking through his spine and into the cold soil below.  
  
In my rage and adrenaline, I had failed to notice my own fatal injury until I was sure he drew his last breath. I felt a sharp pain just below my left rib, and hard, cold spikes that grazed me from deep within. It wasn't long before I lost consciousness next to my final foe. Yet still, the battle raged on around me.  
  
I gained consciousness once more, unable to move, and embraced by the chill of oncoming death. The lack of gunfire and screams was a serenade to my ears, and, through blurred vision, I saw that the last of our standing men celebrated brutal victory. No prisoners were taken. Looking up, I saw that a fellow marine was holding me. His words were muffled, but I could hear him call me a hero. My helmet had been removed, but that gave me no more freedom to breath. The shuriken had already cut its way through my lung. With the last of my breath, I spoke.  
  
"Please...tell them....I died....for....Char...lotte..."  
  
He nodded with pride in his eyes, and saluted. That was the last I ever saw.  
  
In the void between the physical realm and the heavenly plane, I cross with my head held high, knowing that my message is in safe hands. I died for Charlotte. I died so she could live. I died not a soldier, but a father. 


End file.
